


Broken Hearts in This Damnable World

by Desdemonaspace (Ezagaaikwe)



Category: Harriet Vane Wimsey, Lord Peter Wimsey - Fandom, Mervyn Bunter - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-09 22:11:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6925333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ezagaaikwe/pseuds/Desdemonaspace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Directly following Lord Peter's death, Harriet has no-one to turn to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Hearts in This Damnable World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Velvetwhip (Gabrielle)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabrielle/gifts).



1954

Lady Peter Wimsey sat nervelessly. It was perfectly marvelous how numb her senses were when there was so much to prepare, although Bunter did most of it. Thank goodness he was so organized, because her capabilities were entirely rubbish. But all she need do is agree to whatever he put before her, and it was done. She hardly dared be alone with him for fear that they would set one another off. His loss was as great as hers, she feared. Greater, perhaps. He'd known and cared for Peter longer, and his loyalty was to him. She pictured them collapsing on each other's shoulders, howling with grief. She pictured it, then suppressed it with a small shudder. They needed to talk, too, but she dreaded it. She didn't know what she'd do if Bunter left now.

Peter no longer suffered. That was the important thing. She might never write another word, the earth could end in fire or ice, but Peter was out of pain.

Breathing, now that she could do. Breathe in and exhale. Show up at mealtimes and push the food around on the plate. Lie down at night and even sleep a bit, then get up in the morning to answer questions and sign papers.

The funeral was to be in the chapel at Duke's Denver this Tuesday. Peter's body had already been transported there. The Bishop of Norwich would officiate. The newspapers carried the appropriate notices and her own social secretary (a convenience to which she'd resorted in late years) had handled the enormous amount of telephoning and correspondence. The people she really wanted to see already knew and would be there.

Lady Peter thanked all the gods that were and some that weren't that the Dowager Duchess has preceded Peter in death three years earlier. Harriet could not have borne her grief as well as her own.

Bredon, Charlotte, and the twins were arriving on the late train; Roger wired to say he would meet them at Denver, and he would pick up Paul at school along the way. Only Bredon's family to entertain then, if that was the right word. Feed them, she supposed she meant. Talboys' guest rooms were always ready and, between Bunter and Mrs. Croft, the food was sorted. Post-war rationing had finally eased nearly ten years after the war's end, so the children would be sure of a good meal. Harriet wanted to fold Bredon into her arms and ask him never to go, but no, that would never do. She must be strong for him. He was his father's favorite. Hers, too.

She simply could _not_ face all of them, not yet. It was good to have time alone to compose herself.

"Your ladyship?"

She started, more than Bunter's low voice warranted.

"Yes?" She tried to keep her voice as level as his. It had risen nearly an octave to an embarrassing squeak.

"If I may be so bold, you looked faint. I brought you this." He proffered a small glass containing two fingers of Peter's best single malt.

"I am all right, but thank you. Will you join me?" She looked at his blank face and answered for him, "No, of course. You wouldn't."

Bunter just stood there, misery in his eyes. It was incredible how they could function in this state, but then they _needed_ to be this numb in order to manage things.

She took the glass and sipped the whisky slowly. 

Bunter moved as though to leave.

Harriet put out her hand. "Stay a moment, please. I want to talk to you."

"Yes, your ladyship?"

"It's Peter's will. I don't know if he told you, but I suspect he did not, for fear you'd raise a ruction. The land is entailed to Bredon, of course, but the rest of the estate is split in three parts. One part to me, one divided among the boys, and one to you--"

Un-Bunter-like, Bunter interrupted her. "That's entirely wrong and must be put to rights immediately--"

Harriet, giving as good as she got, barrelled on, "Two-thirds to his family, one third to you. No, that's not what I mean. You are family too. Two-thirds to Wimseys and one to you, and no, there is nothing to be put aright. It was Peter's wish, and it's perfectly right the way it is except that _nothing's_ right, is it?" Tears threatened and her voice quavered. She stopped until she got her voice under control, and Bunter, for a wonder, did not interrupt. 

"What I really wanted to ask you is, what are your plans? There is no-one for whom to valet, but buttling, if you wished to stay... it would be _so_ comfortable to have you remain, or perhaps 'comforting' is the word I'm looking for. I know it's far beneath your talents. You could retire, you know, to some place warm and sunny. Spain? Or here's a thought--when the Ruddles passed and their son didn't want to keep the farm, Peter bought it for the land, but he privately thought the farmhouse could be made over into a modern bungalow for you--he thought that you might like to live close by, so that you and he could keep up sleuthing and private investigations, even in retirement." She stopped, aware she was rattling. "I beg your pardon. I am not even allowing you to tell me what is it that _you_ wish to do."

Always taciturn, Bunter opened his mouth, then closed it. He did not appear to trust his voice. He swallowed and then finally spoke in a low voice. "I should like very much to stay, if your ladyship wishes it. Talboys is my home."

"Oh, I am _so_ glad!" Her voice throbbed. She held out her hand, and after a moment, Bunter took it. She clasped his hand with both of hers. He added his other hand and they stayed like that for a long moment, him standing, her sitting. Her eyes welled up. She murmured, "If I were a member of one of those demonstrative Latin races, French, or even American, you would be in mortal danger of being hugged very tightly by me right now."

"I am in no fear of you, your ladyship." Their clasped hands held them at arm's length.

"This will get better. We will get through this, or so I am told by all the tiresome condolence callers, that it gets better."

"So common wisdom has it." He didn't look for a moment to believe it, which, oddly, comforted her.

"One foot in front of the other." She smiled very faintly. "You've helped me more than you know, Bunter."

"As I did for Lord Peter, I shall endeavor to give satisfaction to your ladyship."

 

~ finis ~

**Author's Note:**

> Having just finished Dorothy Sayers\Jill Paton Walsh's Thrones, Dominions, I learn that Bredon was born in 1936, which would make him 18 in my own fic. I could push the date up, set it my fic in 1964, but I'm rather attached to the ten years post-war period. Britain _did_ experience food rationing for almost ten years after the war. But an 18-year-old Bredon cannot be husband to Charlotte and father to Lady Peter's twin grandchildren. Chalk it up to author error ( _this_ author, that is.)
> 
> Simply add ten years to Bredon's age and call it authorial brain-fart.
> 
> And none of this addresses Bunter's marriage in Thrones, Dominions. I simply do not know what to do with that. For purposes of my story, let's call him a widower. (Perhaps he and Lady Peter eventually come to an arrangement of sorts. Who knows?)
> 
> Jill Paton Walsh has additional Lord Peter books, but Thrones, Dominions is the only one started by Dorothy Sayers. Not sure I'll read further, or what I'll find in Walsh's other "fic" - didn't I read something somewhere about Jerry dying and Peter inheriting the dukedom? No, that's a fate I wouldn't wish on Peter; I like him too well.
> 
> Read my fic with a grain of salt.


End file.
